III. IN TRAINING

The wind is cold and heavy

And storms are in the sky:

Our path across the heather

Goes higher and more high.

To right, the town we came from,

To left, blue hills and sea:

The wind is growing colder

And shivering are we.

We drag with stiffening fingers

Our rifles up the hill.

The path is steep and tangled

But leads to Flanders still.